


A Little Longer

by acomplicatedprofession



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Soz, like if you haven't watched it might not make sense, mild season 1 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22810456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acomplicatedprofession/pseuds/acomplicatedprofession
Summary: You’d gotten used to his side of the bed being cold. Leaving his dinner wrapped in plastic. Feeling him there with you but never having any proof save the empty coffee mugs he would leave in the morning. It was like you were married to a ghost.
Relationships: Horacio Carrillo/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	A Little Longer

You’d gotten used to his side of the bed being cold. Leaving his dinner wrapped in plastic. Feeling him there with you but never having any proof save the empty coffee mugs he would leave in the morning. It was like you were married to a ghost. **  
**

The past few weeks Horacio had hardly seen you. You only ever felt the mattress dip beside you right before dawn broke. Then he was gone. Off with the Search Bloc or the American agents, going who knows where to do heaven knows what.

Humming softly to a love song playing on the radio, you busied yourself with making dinner and tried not to think about the message he’d left on the answering machine two days prior. _Lo siento, no sé cuándo estaré en casa. Estar a salvo, por favor. Te quiero._ I’m sorry, I don’t know when I’ll be home. Be safe, please. I love you.

I love you, I don’t know, please, I love you, be safe, be safe, I love you, please. The words swam wild beneath your eyelids, the gravel of his voice overlapping and making your head spin. Setting down the knife you had been using atop the cutting board, you willed your hands to stop trembling and took a deep breath, fighting tears. Horacio would come home. He always did. At least, that’s what you told yourself every time you felt him go. It was the only thing you _could_ tell yourself, but lately, you weren’t so sure anymore.

When you heard the front door creak on its hinges, you swore your heart almost stopped.

————–

He saw you standing in the kitchen, dressed in only his old button-down and a pair of house slippers, and Horacio thought he had never seen anything more beautiful. Your face was backlight with the glow of street traffic, your eyes reflecting headlights as he stepped across the doorway. You looked… pure. Angelic, almost. So far from all the bloodshed that he could still smell, sticky and bitter on the soles of his boots.

He wanted nothing more than to take you away. Carry you up in his arms, run and never stop until any thoughts of Escobar, of sicarios and shot children were erased by the scent of your perfume.

But he couldn’t. Not now, not when he was so close. So instead, Horacio settled for digging his fingers into your hips and pushing you back against the countertop, burying his face into your neck and breathing, trying to wash away the taste of copper from his mouth with every drag of his lips against your shoulder.

He felt like a sinner at the altar, damned but still begging at your feet for something he couldn’t articulate. Not hopeful for atonement, no, he was too far gone for that. Just something to numb his conscience. A carnal respite in your soft hands and even softer smile. Something to tether him to the ground before his soul could float away, out of an army helicopter and into the mountains to lie with the body of a man who’s name he couldn’t remember. So he kissed you.

—————–

You wrapped your arms around his waist to grip at his back, the granite of the countertop digging into your legs as Horacio swallowed your mouth up in his, drawing out a groan from the back of your throat. It was different. Not so lustful as much as it was… hungry. Needy. A drowning man gulping for the air in your lungs, knocking the breath out of your chest and making your cheeks burn.

You’d grown accustomed to his absence, to not being able to touch him. Having him here again, all rough skin and scraping palms and warm lips, was almost too much.

You pulled away, still holding the fabric of his shirt in between his shoulder blades. Looking at him under hooded eyes, you panted through swollen lips as you tried to slow the pulse rushing in your ears.

“Horacio,” you asked quietly, “Is everything alright?”

He was silent, his eyes burning and his stare boring into you, longing, searching for something you couldn’t place and didn’t think you could give him. It broke your heart.

 **“Hold me just a little longer,”** he mumbled, his voice breaking slightly. You sighed, resting your head against his collarbones. His heartbeat was erratic against your temple when you moved to wrap your arms around his waist, reaching to pull him closer.

You couldn’t give him any assurance that whatever happened would be okay because it obviously wouldn’t. You couldn’t give him advice because you knew he would never tell you what he did. But you could give him this.

Pressing your lips to Horacio’s neck, you stepped into the space between his parted feet. The music was faint over the radio, but you still swayed to it, rocking gently.

Just a little longer.


End file.
